Jack the Reaper
by The Chainsaw Juliet
Summary: Reaper AU - The Ripper falls for the Reaper, and her calling cards take the form of corpses. Grelliam nonsense.


[From the Tumblr post "**Movie about a person who falls in love with Death and continuously commits murder in order to spend more time with them**"]

* * *

He could see him; mortals rarely met eyes with a Reaper unless they were about to be reaped, but this one looked straight at him as he bent to sever the Record of Nichols, Mary-Ann.

The man was doused in blood, one hand gripping a surgeon's scalpel and the other a fistful of the victim's clothing from where he held her skirts up.

"What are you doing?" He asked, tipping his head curiously. William cut the Record, and vanished from the scene as swiftly as he could.

* * *

Chapman, Annie was found in a similar state just over a week later and the same mortal was crouched over her with a surgeon's scalpel and a murderer's grin.

It wasn't unusual for one Reaper to be assigned to all the victims of a killer, it made for neater administration that way, but it _was_ unusual for the killer to be able to see said Reaper.

"Hello handsome," he greeted with a wink, "did you miss me?"

William pursed his lips, ignoring him in favour of crouching down to retrieve the woman's Record.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" He could feel himself being scrutinised, and he wished the reel would log itself faster. "Or maybe you're on the job? How about a drink after you clock off, hm?"

The steel of the blade felt icy on his skin as he tipped his chin up so they could meet eyes again.

"Shy? I only bite if you ask nicely."

He felt his skin prickle, and he stood abruptly, brushing creases from his trousers before executing a hasty bow.

"Excuse me."

A look of disappointment in the man's eyes was the last thing he saw before he ported back to the headquarters.

* * *

Stride, Elizabeth and Eddowes, Catherine died within an hour of each other, just over a fortnight later and William was faced with the same dilemma that had plagued him for the past month:

That mortal with the blood-red hair and the sharp grin, who could see him as clear as day.

"It's rude to leave a lady without an answer, you know." He huffed, stained hands on his hips as he scolded William. "I killed two just to make sure you'd come."

"What?" He was so taken aback he couldn't help but respond.

"You're Death, aren't you?" He (she?) poked his chest accusingly, unimpressed by his surprise. "I asked you out for a drink last time and you up and vanished on me again!"

"Yes."

"Is eight o'clock good for you?" She lit up, reaching for his hands.

"No. I meant 'yes', I am Death." William snatched his hands away and crossed them behind his back. "Of a sorts: I do not cause Death, I am merely a Reaper dispatched to harvest soul and Record."

"Well yes I know you don't cause them because _I _cause them and you pop up." She waved a hand dismissively. "Go on and do your thing. I'll wait."

"No. You aren't supposed to _see_ me let alone interact with me unless it is your own death I am to attend." He replied stiffly, crouching to coax the Record out of the mutilated corpse.

"Tomorrow, then?"

"_NO._"

* * *

His request to be reassigned to a different case was denied.

* * *

The temperature was beginning to drop, and Winter's chill began to fill London's lungs. November was just a week in when he was dispatched to yet another murder committed by the same mad fellow.

"I planned this one well and good, I'll have you know." She was coated in it, absolutely drenched in red, and spattered with gore as she leaned casually against the doorway, standing between him and his horrifically eviscerated target.

"You can't keep doing this."

"You can't keep ignoring me."

"I can, and I will." William replied sternly, though he tried to be as polite as possible when shouldering his way past her and into the room. It reeked of blood and the onset of decay, and he minded his step as he made his way to the bed.

"They call me Jack the Ripper."

"Is that your name- Jack?"

"My name is Grell Sutcliff." She sat on the bed, stroking Kelly's hacked face with mock sweetness. "This is my calling card, and you've not been answering very well."

"I've answered incredibly well, excuse me." William defended, clipping the Record and watching diligently as it stored itself in his logbook. "I've attended every murder, without fail."

"We still haven't gone for drinks."

"I am a Reaper! I am not going to associate myself with a mortal, let alone a murderer!"

"What's your name?" She purred, toying with his tie.

"I'm leaving."

"I'll keep doing this just for you."

"You'll tire of it."

* * *

She did not, in fact, tire of it at all and his parting words seemed only to spur her until William found himself attending another murder just over a month later. Mylett, Rose was strangled to death and left, like the others, in the streets of Whitechapel.

"Merry Christmas!" She greeted cheerily upon his arrival. He sighed in exasperation.

"Christmas is in five days."

"I know, so let's do something together!" Grell looped her arms around him from behind. "Christmas goose and pudding, and eggnog and mistletoe kisses!"

"Miss Sutcliff, please remove yourself from my person."

"Shan't."

"I _insist_."

"Come over for Christmas dinner. I bet it's lonely and tiresome being so very grim all the time _and _a Reaper. A Grim Reaper." She giggled and kissed his nape, causing an involuntary shiver.

He remained silent for a long while, weighing up the consequences.

"If I attend, will you cease your activities?" William asked slowly, barely believing the words coming out of his mouth. She released her hold on him, grabbing his shoulders and turning him to face her instead.

"Maybe." She pecked him on the cheek, and she didn't look disappointed when he vanished.

* * *

The Christmas dinner was better than what he'd imagined, and far better than the scant meal he allowed himself on such a holiday. He didn't tell her the real reason he had agreed to dinner, but she didn't seem too alarmed when the grief-stricken husband broke into her home armed with a pistol.

"Oh, you clever man." She laughed, and though it was directed at him, the enraged husband couldn't see the Reaper nor his faint smile as the man shot her through the abdomen.

"This is for Rose, you sick murderer!"

William crouched by her side, shifting her into his arms as the man fled.

"You never told me your name, you know. You can't just be 'Death'." She toyed with his tie as was her habit, though her fingers fumbled clumsily the more she bled.

"I always thought I was 'just' Death." William confided, and his chest felt heavy with a foreign feeling he couldn't identify. "My name is William T. Spears."

"William T. Spears, the Death Clerk; The very Grim Reaper." She giggled, though the sound distorted as she choked on her own blood. "Send me to Hell swiftly, o' Grim One, for I am sure they've a party awaiting my attendance."

"No."

"No?"

"No, you have been assigned a different fate."

"Will you be there?"

"Yes."

"Good." She died smiling.

* * *

Christmas of 1889 brought on heavy snowfall and nightly darkness by the turn of four in the afternoon.

"I'm afraid Christmas dinner will have to wait." William appeared from the bathroom, buttoning the closure of his glove. "Are you ready?"

Grell plumped her striped bow and preened her lapels before grabbing her Scythe from where it leant against the wall.

"Always."


End file.
